I Have Fallen in Love with the Same Woman
by Segunda Katigbak
Summary: TEZUKA/OC. Mystifying is too lacking a word to describe it. Beautiful—too cliché. He loved this girl. That, he was certain. -fluff-


_**I Have Fallen in Love with the Same Woman Three Times**_

**BY: MYLiFE'SBOAT**

**Disclaimer for Tezuka and the title.**

* * *

There was a flicker of light and a faint golden glow of the candles that surrounded them. The music was mellow. It was soft; the hum of the violin was breathtakingly beautiful. The stars stretched out infinitely in the sky in an elegant way, as the tiny dots of silver speckled the blotches of black above. The moon shone in its own humble way, illuminating the poolside with its pearl brilliance.

Mystifying is too lacking a word to describe it. Beautiful—too cliché. There is nothing, perhaps, to term this magnificent atmosphere that surrounded them. Time unfolded. Earth stood still. And he, Tezuka Kunimitsu, with this amazing woman he held in his arms, are the only people left—left to live, left to love and left to live for love. It was not _you _and _I_ anymore. It was now _we_, _us _and _together_.

Chocolate. It was chocolate, he decided while closing his eyes and relishing the taste of her in his mouth. She took one step closer, perhaps subconciously, and his hands trace up and down her slender back, caressing her in a way nobody else would. She pulled away with a wonderful smile as he pressed his forehead against hers, afraid to break the spell. He brushed a red lock of hair away from her forehead, staring into her sea-green eyes with wonder and adoration.

He loved this girl. That, he was certain. When or how or why he did so, he was not sure but he was the least to care. What was important now is this moment; the spectacle of deep pools of green he looked into, pulling him inside a vortex of unfamiliar yet reassuring emotions; the warmth of her touch as his arms squeezed her so tight as if telling her that he will never let go; the scent of her—that combined scent of strawberry and champagne. It filled his nostrils in a fitting way.

"Haruka," he whispered her name on her hair like a lullaby, better than the sound of the violin playing on the background. "My Haruka." Tezuka ran his fingers through the smooth curls of her red hair, tangling them between the strands.

Ah, yes. He loved this girl more than anyone can explain and more than he can handle. "You are my Haruka."

"You are a doting husband, Kunimitsu," she whispered back with a light, playful chuckle. They rocked to a fro, slowly and gracefully with the beat of the music. He listened intently to the frantic but sure beating of her heart, knowing that a part of it belonged to him the same way he gave a part of his to her.

"Is that bad?" he asked almost unconsciously, too absorbed with the warmth of the moment.

"No," she told him. "Just weird."

"I _am _weird," he pointed out.

"Happy Paper Anniversary, weird dude."

"Happy Paper Anniversary." He looked into her eyes, her deep eyes. "You're the happiest thing I've ever had in my life."

"You really are weird."

A last song—a last beat of the music. He sought her hand and his fingers fit hers perfectly, as if they were made only for her to match.

"Can we go buy ice cream?"

"No."

"How about a new pair of shoes?"

"No."

A last flicker of light—the gold and orange glow of the candles kissed and caressed their faces as they walked, their feet brushing the moist grass.

"Hm—how about. . ."

"No."

A new beginning . . .

"How about diapers?"

He stopped, his fingers squeezing tighter than necessary. She was a few steps ahead and Haruka looked back to examine his face under the dim light. He stared at her dumbly. He must have trouble hearing.

"We should repaint that room across ours. Pale pink seems nice." Her smile—it was her smile that jerked him out of his empty reverie.

"Light blue seems nice too," he told her as they resumed their walk, a visible smile painting both their faces—identical smiles.

"Ah yes."

Just a beginning . . .

"In five years or so, we have to relocate all the stuff in the room beside the room across us."

"Make it three."

"Ah, forget it. I'll look for a new house."

"We still haven't completed mortgage."

* * *

**Author's Note: **I'm a great fan of fluff, yes. Hard to beat. Thank double-shot espresso and a pair of smelly, old socks. Believe me, nothing gets better with it. Please review.


End file.
